


Behave

by SofiaDragon



Series: The Pilotverse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Bit Not Good, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Neurodiversity, Parenthood, Parentlock, could be read as platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26489395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SofiaDragon/pseuds/SofiaDragon
Summary: Sherlock thinks back on his relationships with John and Mycroft and how they handled the moments when he was A Bit Not Good.John was just better at this than Mycroft ever was, because he explains properly.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Pilotverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925755
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	Behave

"Billy, you can't act like that. It's rude," a young, pudgy Mycroft once yelled at him. They were in Sherlock's old room in the embassy complex in... Sherlock wasn't even sure what country. It didn't matter. Mycroft was full of tiny rage, only partially because they had been removed from the sunroom before Mummy's cake was cut.

"But it was true," an even smaller William Sherlock had replied. He was sitting on his bed with a book that was, at the time, far too difficult for him to properly read, looking at scientific drawings of exotic animals.

"Just because something is true doesn't mean it is alright for you to say it during tea time. You disappointed Mummy again."

Sherlock watched the memory play out in his mind palace. He'd projected it onto one wall so that he could contrast it with a more recent conversation. He'd had a thought this morning while he and John were eating breakfast, and he was fairly certain that the thought itself was more than 'A Bit Not Good.' As soon as John left for an interview at a new locum agency, he retreated to his mind palace to check. Normally, he would have a mental projection there with him to assist, but in this case especially he needed to work it out himself. He turned to the opposite wall and willed the more recent memory to play.

"That wasn't good yesterday, Sherlock," John said. They were in 221B with tea and biscuits the day after wrapping up a minor case. John was seated in his chair, but Sherlock was still buzzing with residual energy from the string of petty, but interesting cases they'd had. He had initially wanted to do a bit of composing but was stopped by the state of his E string and bow. The violin had seen a lot of use lately, and so he'd fetched soft cotton cloths and new strings from a box in his closet to properly service his instrument. He had just finished disassembling it and had all of its precious parts laid out in a semicircle in front of him on the floor.

"Pardon?" Sherlock asked, pausing to look up at the former soldier's stern face.

"What you said yesterday wasn't good. Mr. Chaudhary very nearly didn't pay us after you upset his wife so badly." John's face was set, his voice firm, but he wasn't angry.

"I don't know why he was so bothered. He's shagging their male gardener and hardly spends any time with his wife as it is."

"It was insensitive," John insisted. "Her sister just died."

"Her sister had been stealing from them for years. They hired us to find out how the gemstones had been swapped for glass without their knowing. Why should they be upset that we solved the case?"

Sherlock paused the memory to regarded the scene carefully for a moment, taking in John's patient disapproval. He turned back to the older memory.

"But why?" his younger self asked.

"It's rude! You don't talk about things like that in polite company," Mycroft asserted.

"I just said she smelled nice. That's a compliment. Compliments are polite."

"You said she smelled like the butler's cologne!" Mycroft shouted.

"She did, and I said it was nice," Sherlock insisted. "I was being polite like you asked me to."

"It implies things!"

"Like what?" Sherlock's question utterly broke his brother. For a few moments he sputtered before straightening up and pointing authoritatively at Sherlock.

"You don't talk about how people smell over tea. Ever."

"Mummy talks about perfume over tea, sometimes."

"That's Mummy. You don't do that." Mycroft set his hands on his hips, pleased with having resolved the issue permanently.

Sherlock looked at the memory from his childhood. There were a thousand such incidents, and he mentally stepped sideways to see many of them overlaid on top of each other. There was a shape and tone to them, like notes in a song being reprised and remixed. Mycroft, Mummy, nannies, and teachers... Sherlock would do something Not Good and they would tell him he shouldn't have, but in the end...

"It isn't that you shouldn't have told them, Sherlock, it was the way you did it and the timing. You didn't just tell her that her sister committed suicide. You made it seem like we drove her to do it."

"That is utterly ridiculous, John. She is dead because she hadn't been seeing the same results from that homeopathic garbage she's been taking for her arthritis and has been upping the dosage to poisonous levels. She was dead before we were hired, it was just a matter of her sluggish, medication-addled digestion finally processing enough of what she'd already ingested to tip the toxic buildup over the edge," Sherlock dismissed.

"You didn't say that, though. You just said that the family won't have to worry about any more jewelry going missing because the thief had killed herself," John scolded. "You should have led with why she was stealing and then explained that the quack medication she was taking was toxic."

"You're the medical man, it was much better received when you explained the particulars. It always is, with health considerations," Sherlock defended, quite logically.

"Then you let me, or prompt me, to explain the medical facts first if that's what you want. You don't just skip it and leave a mess of a conversation for me to clean up after. You do know the death of a sibling is something people will not respond well to."

"Of course," Sherlock answered the clearly hypothetical question. Everything about John's posture indicated he knew full well that Sherlock's reaction to Mycroft passing would be... intense, and negative. "I... needed to explain more of the minor details than usual before providing the conclusion, because it was more shocking than usual? Despite the client being in such an awful hurry he insulted you thrice, implied that you slowed me down, and was willing to pay double for results within the day, with sundown occurring as we spoke?"

"Because the resolution of the case was so shocking, yes. Speed had to be sacrificed - just a little bit- for sensitivity. You needed more detail to build up to that or to explain everything about the thefts and hand the death of a loved one over to me if you aren't sure you can do it gently," John coached. "In this case, we needed to establish that she stole to fund the alternative medicine treatments, placebos and symptom suppressants for a hypochondriac with nothing wrong with her beyond being 72, explain that the money she'd gotten from fencing the gems is gone, then tell them that we'd found her on the floor of her home with no pulse and dialed 999. Not just skipped from 'your sister is the thief' to 'but she killed herself before we arrived so you don't need to worry about it anymore' in the same breath."

It was so much longer than most of the other memories, and there were several times John had done this. It was always quite a bit later, after John had taken time to think about exactly what went wrong, not that he didn't scold Sherlock in the moment, but he came back around to it the next day to explain. sometimes. Mycroft and Mummy could think faster than John, so that delay was understandable. That was the difference, though, wasn't it? John was understandable. John teased it out until he found exactly where Sherlock went wrong, then explained what he should have done, which was very rarely 'just say nothing.' That was a common suggestion from his childhood: just say nothing. It really was unhelpful advice considering the six months he'd been voluntarily mute at age 9 had also been deemed Not Good.

Over the years he'd lived with John - the time he was away didn't count, nor did the time John was not with him in 221B - Sherlock had fewer and fewer Not Good moments. He could see them coming a lot more reliably, now. He could feel out the patterns. Maybe some of that wasn't just John being John, but Sherlock had to give credit where it was due. There was Rosie to account for now, after all. Children mimicked adults, and Sherlock had to do better. He had to be better if he was to be around a child so regularly. He couldn't be Not Good where she could see, which was why he'd been reviewing these memories in the first place and stumbled upon this odd resonance in his memories of John scolding him that wasn't there in the memories of Mycroft doing the same.

John was just better at this than Mycroft ever was, because he explains properly.

Sherlock was jolted suddenly out of his mind palace by energetic tugging on his arm. He looked over to see Rosie trying with all her tiny might to climb up him to get on the couch.

"Sorry, I had my hands full," John said, rushing over to collect his daughter.

"No apologies necessary," Sherlock said, sitting up and taking Rosie with him to bounce happily on his lap. "I was just finished working out a puzzle. I can handle her while you get yourself sorted."

"Oh? Got a case solved while I was out?" John asked as he went to remove the used bottles and other soiled items from the diaper bag.

"No, John," Sherlock said wistfully, enjoying how easy it was to entertain a happy baby, "just a bit of a mental exercise. How was your sister?"

"Harry... is. At least Clara's still good company, though I think I might have triggered some baby fever in her by bringing Rosie. The two of them getting back together seems to have done no obvious harm to either of them, so there's that."

"I take it your conditions for Harriet being a more active part of Rosie's life have not been met," Sherlock said delicately.

"No."

"Sobriety is a struggle for many. She clearly lacks the proper motivation to leave her addiction behind."

"That's a bold statement coming from you," John said, turning from the sink to give Sherlock a significant look. Sherlock stood, lifted Rosie over his head, and swung her down in a gentle arc that transformed her amused toddler babble into peals of happy giggles.

"Proper motivation can be difficult to locate, particularly if one is not really looking for it," Sherlock said as he made the baby fly, "but on occasion, it comes limping along even if you aren't ready for it. The difficulty, of course, is in keeping hold of that motivation even when circumstances make it difficult, or regaining it promptly when holding onto it is impossible."

"Sherlock," John said in a charged tone of voice, and the boffin didn't dare turn to look.

"Not Good?"

"No, Sherlock. That was...that was good." A warm hand rested on Sherlock's shoulder. "That was very good. Thank you."


End file.
